


somewhere in between (the beginning and the end)

by superhoney



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel, Canon Compliant, Castiel's Handprint, Episode Related, Episode: s12e12 Stuck In The Middle (With You), First Kiss, Getting Together, Happy September 18th, M/M, Referenced Switching, Top Dean, What Comes After A Love Confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-18
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-31 07:44:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12127779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superhoney/pseuds/superhoney
Summary: Castiel has confessed his love for Dean, and Dean has not pushed him away. But Castiel still wishes to be closer to him, to hear his words echoed back to him from Dean's lips. He wonders if he ever will.





	somewhere in between (the beginning and the end)

**Author's Note:**

> Happy September 18th! 
> 
> I wrote this very, very, very quickly because I had to get it out so I could post it before work, but I'm fairly happy with it anyway. 
> 
> Thank you, Anna, for reading it with your usual lightning speed and precision.

If these are to be his last breaths, Castiel does not wish to waste them.

Summoning what little remains of his strength, he finally gives voice to the words. _I love you_.

They’re intended for Dean, and judging by the expression on his face, Dean knows it. But Castiel is all too aware that they are not alone, that Sam and Mary are both radiating grief and concern as well, so he blinks and swallows roughly, then repeats the words with one slight change.

 _I love all of you_.

Because he does. And because he needs them to know it, if he is to leave them.

But he doesn’t. 

It’s funny, he thinks later, lying in his room back at the bunker, how he spent so many years of his existence never contemplating the possibility of not-existing. And then he met the Winchesters, and life and death and right and wrong and all the things in between became much greater concerns. He has died, or ceased to exist, several times over. Has come close to doing so even more often. 

This is the first time, though, that he has proclaimed his love so openly. And he’s fairly certain that is what will make this night so memorable, not yet another near-death experience. 

A soft knock on his door distracts him from his thoughts. “Come in,” he calls. 

Dean enters the room quietly, a mug cradled in one hand. He places it on the nightstand and sits on the bed beside Castiel, eyes questioning as he looks him over.

“How are you feeling?” Dean asks.

Castiel shrugs. “Well enough, all things considered.”

A soft huff of laughter from Dean, who shakes his head slowly. “You almost died, man.”

“Almost being the operative word,” Castiel points out. “Dean. I’m fine. I will be fine.”

“Right.” Dean rubs his hands lightly over the bedspread. Almost nervously. “I guess I’ll just let you rest, then.”

Castiel doesn’t want him to go. “Don’t,” he says. 

It’s one word. Two fewer than the three he spoke earlier that day. But it stops Dean in his tracks in just the same way. He turns back to face Castiel, and the longing on his face makes Castiel’s breath catch in his throat.

It’s Dean’s turn to speak, now. Dean’s turn to be brave.

He does not disappoint.

“Earlier, you, uh. Said you loved us.” He’s looking down at the floor, but Castiel can see the faint flush rising in his cheeks. 

“I did.” _I do_.

“You said it twice.”

“Yes.”

Finally, Dean meets his eyes. “Did you mean it?” His voice is small. Tentative. 

“Yes,” Castiel says again, rising to his feet.

Dean crosses the room swiftly, but comes to a sudden halt in front of Castiel, arms reaching for him then falling back down to his sides. “Cas,” he murmurs, his eyes bright. “I don’t know if I can--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Castiel assures him. He has always known the words wouldn’t come easily to Dean, if the feeling ever came to him at all. He doesn’t care.

Dean’s gaze drops to his lips. “God, Cas,” he says on a long exhale. “I want--”

“Yes,” Castiel says for a third time, and then Dean’s lips are pressed against his. 

It’s soft, and perhaps too brief, but it overwhelms Castiel. And so he pulls back quickly, not because he doesn’t wish to keep kissing Dean but because he’s afraid he will never stop. Better to make that choice for himself than be interrupted by the concerns of the world, or by a well-meaning knock at his door, Sam or Mary coming to check on them.

He thinks again about the in-betweens. There is love and there is not-love, and he is unsure exactly where they fall at this precise moment, he and Dean. He thinks he likes it here, though, because _here_ means Dean murmuring soothing things in his ear, pressing tiny kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, once more to his lips. 

Soon enough, here becomes the two of them wrapped up together in Castiel’s bed, shirts discarded and thrown to the floor, the warmth of bare skin against bare skin, the secure feeling of Dean’s arms around him.

It has been a long day, and enough progress has been made. Castiel is content to remain here for the time being.

***

As the days, weeks, months pass, however, that slowly begins to change.

Dean never pushes him for more. Seems happy enough to kiss Castiel when he’s happy, to hold him when he’s worried, to lie down beside him every night and wake up next to him every morning. 

Castiel is not displeased with their relationship, if he can call it such. But he is not entirely pleased, either. He is, once again, in-between. 

He knows Dean is a sexual being. And he knows that his own physical form adheres to many conventional standards of human attractiveness. When he had access to Jimmy Novak’s memories, his mind was full of images of appreciative glances from strangers on the street, phone numbers scrawled on coffee cups. 

He also believes that Dean in particular finds his body attractive. There have been times, over the years they’ve known one another, that it has been made clear. 

So why, then, does Dean not act on that attraction? Is Castiel doing something wrong?

They’re watching a movie in the library, late one night after Sam and Mary have both gone to bed. The couple in the film are kissing, and Castiel looks over at Dean, who has a soft smile on his face as though he’s happy for the happiness of these fictional characters. 

Castiel wants to kiss him. He always wants to kiss him, it’s true, but even more so than usual. So he does.

Dean seems startled at first, but eases into it quickly enough, his hand coming up to cradle Castiel’s face. But he keeps his lips gentle, and Castiel pulls away, frustrated. 

“Sorry,” Dean says, swallowing roughly. “Sorry, Cas.”

Castiel frowns. “Don’t apologize,” he says. 

“Maybe we should just go to bed,” Dean continues, reaching over to pause the movie as he yawns. 

Frown deepening, Castiel follows him down the hall to his room. Their room now, he supposes. Maybe Dean wants a proper bed, more privacy, before takings things further. But Dean just presses an absent kiss to his cheek and begins his nightly rituals, changing into his pyjama bottoms and brushing his teeth.

Castiel sits on the edge of the bed, wondering if somehow he interpreted things incorrectly. It wouldn’t be the first time. 

Dean smiles at him as he comes back to the centre of the room, pulling back the covers and sliding into bed. Castiel joins him, and Dean’s arms come around him like they do every night, and it feels good and right but it’s not what Castiel wants, at least not all of what he wants. 

“Goodnight, Cas,” Dean murmurs.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Castiel replies. 

And in the moments that tick away slowly while Dean sleeps and Castiel does not, he wonders again if he is doing something wrong. If by confessing his love first he inverted the proper order of these things. If Dean still has to catch up to him, if he just has to be patient a little while longer.

Castiel waited thousands of years to find someone to love in this way. Then he waited several more to admit that love.

He supposes he can continue to wait, but a small, selfish part of him wishes he didn’t have to.

***

It takes a perfect storm to finally bring the matter to a head.

There are two competing cases: a haunting in Maine, and possible vampire activity in Colorado. They split up, Sam and Mary going to investigate the haunting while Dean and Castiel tackle the vampires. 

The case is bloody and violent and exhausting, but there’s something strangely satisfying about how well they work together, the effortless way they communicate without words and dispatch the vampires quickly and efficiently. When they return to their motel room, Dean disappears to take a shower even though Castiel could simply wave a hand to clean him off. When Dean exits the bathroom ten minutes later, his hair damp and a drop of water rolling down the side of his neck, Castiel immediately pulls him in for a kiss.

Dean kisses him back, and for once, it feels like he’s truly letting himself go, like he’s truly opening himself up to Castiel. A thrill of something like victory running through his entire body, Castiel slides one hand to Dean’s shoulder, intending to draw him even closer, to press their bodies together more tightly, to let Dean feel the effect he has on him.

But Dean steps back, his eyes wide and his breathing laboured. “Sorry,” he mutters, looking away.

Castiel doesn’t understand, and is surprised at how hurt Dean’s withdrawal makes him feel.

“It’s fine,” he says, though it clearly isn’t it. “You don’t want...I understand.”

Dean blinks at him, then frowns. “I don’t want--” he repeats slowly. “No, _you_ don’t want.”

They stare at one another for a tense moment, all the other times things have gone this way replaying in Castiel’s mind. He thinks back to that first kiss, the way he stopped it before it could truly begin, and curses himself for a fool.

“That isn’t true,” he states. “Dean.” He reaches out and places a hand on Dean’s shoulder again, drawing him in, and watches as Dean’s eyes widen as the pieces fall into place. 

“It frightens me, sometimes,” he admits. “How much I want you.”

Angels were not created to feel this way. But perhaps some time after his first death, his first resurrection, Castiel stopped caring. 

“I didn’t think…” Dean laughs to himself. “I didn’t want to push you.”

“You didn’t,” Castiel assures him. “But I didn’t pull, either.”

“So all those times I slammed on the brakes…”

“I was afraid you didn’t want me the same way,” Castiel admits, looking away. He may not be a soldier any longer, but he still finds it difficult to admit to weakness, to doubt. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Dean murmurs. “You have no idea.”

“Show me, then,” Castiel replies. He meets Dean’s eyes, a hint of challenge in his tone. 

And Dean does. He surges forward, pressing his lips against Castiel’s in a kiss like a thunderstorm on a summer day. Castiel sighs into it, tangling his fingers in Dean’s hair, matching his intensity with all the passion he’s kept so carefully in check until now.

They fall back onto the bed together, Dean braced on his forearms above Castiel, lips trailing hot and insistent along the side of his neck. Castiel arches beneath him, and Dean hisses as their lower bodies make contact, pressing back to meet him. 

“God, Cas,” Dean mutters into the meat of his shoulder, pulling aside the collar of his shirt to nip lightly at the exposed skin. “You’re so--”

“I know,” Castiel replies, breathless, hands sliding down to hold Dean around his waist, to bring their erections in line once again. Dean groans, his lips losing focus as he ruts against Castiel. It’s like nothing Castiel has ever felt before, and it isn’t long before his pleasure overwhelms him and he comes, sighing out Dean’s name as he does, Dean following shortly behind.

With a lazy wave of his hand, Castiel cleans them up, and Dean laughs. “Convenient,” he remarks.

“Very.” Castiel curls in closer, resting his head against Dean’s chest, listening to his heart as it slowly returns to its normal rate. 

“I’m sorry it was so quick,” Dean says eventually. 

Castiel twists to look at him. “I’m not,” he says. 

“Yeah, well. Our first time, you know. Could have made it a bit more romantic.”

Castiel treasures these moments, the ones where all of Dean’s defenses fall away and he reveals the sweetness at the core of him, the tenderness he keeps so deeply buried. 

“There will be other times,” Castiel assures him, and that makes Dean smile.

“Good,” he says simply. 

Yes. It is good. Castiel no longer has to doubt that Dean wants him. Perhaps, in time, Dean will catch up to him. Will love him in return.

***

Just as Castiel promised, there are other times. Many of them. He learns the shape of Dean’s body with his hands and with his lips, learns the sounds Dean makes at the height of pleasure, the smile that crosses his lips after they’re both sated. He learns the way Dean’s eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks as he looks up at Castiel, kneeling in front of him, the feeling of his mouth around his cock. He learns the shaky sigh that escapes Dean the first time Castiel slides into the welcoming warmth of his body, the way Dean’s back arches and his hands scrabble at the sheets as Castiel thrusts into him.

It’s a night like most others when Castiel asks for what he wants to learn next. They’ve already retired to their room for the night, and Dean is scrolling through his phone wearing just his boxers, occasionally chuckling to himself at whatever he’s reading. Castiel glances at him and marvels that they’re here together, like this, after all this time.

He crawls onto the bed beside Dean, who immediately puts down his phone and tilts his face up for a kiss. Castiel obliges, settling himself over Dean and immediately tugging at his own shirt so they’re evenly matched.

They kiss lazily for a few minutes, Dean’s hands running up and down the length of Castiel’s spine. It feels so good, but it isn’t all Castiel wants. He reaches behind himself and slowly draws Dean’s hands down further until they’re resting on the swell of his ass, letting them linger there.

Dean’s eyes widen as he breaks their kiss, and his hands twitch against Castiel’s backside, in excitement or anticipation or perhaps even surprise.

“Yeah?” he says, his voice rough.

“Yes.”

“Fuck,” Dean murmurs, eyes soft and wondering. “Going to make it so good for you, Cas, I swear.”

Castiel has no doubt in this regard. Dean is an attentive, skilled, generous lover, always delighting in Castiel’s pleasure. 

They shed the rest of their clothes quickly, and Dean kisses every inch of Castiel’s skin as it is revealed to him. Castiel throws his head back as Dean mouths over his chest, lingering over one nipple then the other, pressing a kiss directly over his heart.

When they’re both naked, Dean turns away for a moment to rummage in the nightstand, returning with the bottle of lubricant. He kisses Castiel again, his hardness digging against his hip, and Castiel luxuriates in it, the anticipation and the sweet gathering of tension. 

“You’re sure?” Dean asks, eyes sweeping over Castiel’s face, searching for any sign of hesitance.

“Entirely,” Castiel assures him. “Please, Dean.”

Dean flips them over in an impressive display of strength, his gaze wandering over Castiel’s naked form in frank appreciation. It seems absurd, now, that Castiel once thought Dean didn’t want him in this way. 

At the first press of Dean’s finger against his entrance, Castiel shudders, spreading his legs wider to welcome the touch. Dean keeps his eyes focused on his face the entire time, though Castiel’s own eyes drift closed with pleasure as Dean’s finger enters him completely, then gently moves in and out. 

“Open your eyes for me, Cas,” Dean coaxes. “Look at me.”

So Castiel does. He lets out a shaky moan as Dean adds a second finger and they brush against that spot inside him, the spot that never fails to make Dean cry out when Castiel does this to him. 

“I can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” Dean says, so quietly Castiel wonders if he knows he’s speaking aloud. “Never thought I’d have something like this.”

Distantly, Castiel wonders what he means by that, but he’s distracted by the slight burn as Dean works another finger inside of him. He relaxes his body around the unfamiliar fullness and finds the pleasure in it, rocking back onto Dean’s hand, which brings a smile to his face.

“I want to make you feel so good,” Dean says, placing a open-mouthed kiss directly beneath Castiel’s ear. It’s a particularly sensitive spot, as they discovered one happy afternoon, and Castiel trembles at the sensation.

“You are,” he says. “Dean, I feel--”

He has no words for this. All the languages on Earth, running constantly through his mind, and still there are no words.

Dean withdraws his hand and Castiel curls his lip in disappointment, prompting Dean to kiss him again as he gently nudges Castiel’s legs further apart and settles himself properly between them. He looks at Castiel for confirmation once more, and finally Castiel says, “Now.”

Dean sinks inside him in one easy motion, slow and steady, and Castiel gasps. The physical pleasure is wondrous, it’s true, but it’s the closeness he truly cherishes. Dean is draped entirely over him, his solid body bracketing Castiel, their mouths pressed together. They are one long line of contact and Castiel has never felt so whole, so complete.

And then Dean begins to move. Long, deep thrusts that send sparks of pleasure racing through Castiel, whose legs come up to wrap around Dean’s waist, urging him even deeper. Dean moans in surprise and snaps his hips forward, his rhythm stuttering slightly before he adjusts his pace. 

“Cas,” he sighs. “God, you feel incredible.”

Castiel is too lost in his delight to answer him. He just rolls his body in time with Dean’s, meeting his thrusts with answering movements, hands sliding over the sweat-sticky muscles of Dean’s back, feeling them flex under his touch.

Dean’s hand snakes between them to wrap around Castiel’s cock and Castiel groans, head thrashing from side to side. “Shh,” Dean soothes him, lips brushing over Castiel’s cheek. “I’ve got you, Cas.”

Castiel can feel his orgasm approaching, the pleasure of it building low in his stomach and spreading throughout his entire body. He brings his hands up to clutch at Dean’s shoulders, desperate for something to hold him together as his body begins to fly apart. 

The last time he held Dean so tightly, he thinks dizzily, was the day he rescued him from Hell.

It’s that thought, the memory of where this all began, that pushes Castiel over the edge. He throws his head back and comes, Dean’s name falling from his lips in a rapturous sigh.

Dean groans at the sight, hips losing their rhythm once again. “Cas,” he gasps out. “I can’t--”

“Let go,” Castiel urges him. 

“Cas,” Dean says again. “God, Cas, I love you. I love you so much.”

The words Castiel never expected to hear reverberate in his head as Dean stiffens in his arms, a choked-off exclamation of Castiel’s name pressed into the crook of his shoulder as he spills inside him. He collapses against Castiel, who is still holding tightly to his shoulders, reluctant to lose any point of contact between them.

After a moment, Dean pushes himself up on his forearms and peers down into Castiel’s face. “Hey,” he says. 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel replies softly. He lightly traces a fingertip over the line of Dean’s cheekbone, pausing over each freckle he finds there. 

Dean shudders under his touch but then pulls away, rolling off Castiel to stand and fetch a washcloth from beside the sink. He returns and carefully cleans up the evidence of their activities from both of their bodies, his touch gentle and adoring.

Castiel could simply snap his fingers and they would both be pristine, but he finds he likes this, the tender way Dean handles him, the way a soft smile still plays around his lips. 

Dean returns to the bed and gathers Castiel into his arms, placing a soft kiss to the centre of his forehead. “How do you feel?” he asks.

Castiel considers this for a moment, then smiles. “Happy,” he says. 

And he is. Dean’s words were merely the icing on the cake, so to speak. Every touch, every kiss, every caress Dean gave him spoke his love this night, even before the words passed his lips. But hearing them out loud is its own special kind of milestone, and Castiel cannot help but be pleased that they’ve reached it.

Maybe, he thinks, Dean never had to catch up to him at all. Maybe they’ve always been on this journey, side by side, hand in hand, one or the other a half-step ahead or behind but never far enough to truly be apart.

***

In the morning, Castiel opens his eyes to see Dean standing naked in front of the mirror over the sink. Castiel blinks, his eyes widening as he realizes what Dean is looking at.

The perfect impression of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder, a mark left behind from his passion the night before.

Contrite, Castiel slides out of bed and comes to stand behind him, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back against his chest. Dean relaxes into his hold, and Castiel presses a kiss to the nape of his neck. An acknowledgement, an apology.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I must have gotten carried away.”

But Dean just laughs. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I kinda like it.”

He reaches down and places Castiel’s hand over top the mark, adjusting it so it covers it completely, then smiles at their reflection in the mirror.

“Yeah,” he says, “looks pretty good to me.”

Castiel hooks his chin over Dean’s shoulder and looks into the mirror. An angel and a human, holding tightly to each other, and no more in-betweens, only the completeness of their love.

“Yes,” he agrees. “It does.”


End file.
